


The Second Prophecy

by poetofstarlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Muggles, Other, Squibs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofstarlight/pseuds/poetofstarlight
Summary: Harry Potter grew up believing he was an only child. Little did he know that on the night Lily and James Potter were murdered, they left behind not one, but two children. Miles away from where Harry had been dropped on his aunt and uncle's doorstep, Hermione Granger grew up with the knowledge of why she and her brother had been separated, and an inkling of what was to come. She dreamt of the day when she would be reunited with her brother, even if he could never know her true identity.





	1. The Potter Home

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any part of Harry Potter, as it belongs to J.K. Rowling. I only own the plot I made up. Enjoy!
> 
> *I originally posted this story on wattpad, but have decided to move it here to continue working instead. If you are a previous reader of "The Second Prophecy" by Poet1923 on wattpad, yes this is the same fic (though very edited) and yes I am the same author!*

_“Alohomora.”_

A hooded figure emerged from the depths of the dark night sky as the light from inside the Potter’s house shimmered over the black cloak of Lord Voldemort. He reached a ghostly pale hand slowly toward the doorknob in anticipation. His breath quickened excitedly as he recognized how too easy it all was. _Stupid, stupid people, for believing they could ever evade the Dark Lord._

James Potter quietly pushed open the door belonging to his daughter’s bedroom. She had been much sleepier than her brother today, and was already emitting the soft, tiny snores of a deep sleeping child. James tried to smile as he stared down at Hermione’s shock of red hair, the same glorious shade as her mother’s, but he couldn’t help being distracted by the thoughts which crept out of the back of one’s mind late at night like this. He felt as if there was something coming, something he should be afraid of, but he was just paranoid. He was sure of it. After all, they were safe. There was no way Voldemort could possibly find them.

Lily Potter lay her son gently in his crib. He whimpered softly as she tried to pull her hand from his tiny grasp. It was as if Harry knew something she didn’t, Lily thought as she worked her fingers out of his. Harry was never the clingy one at bedtime, that was Hermione’s job.

James left Hermione’s room just as Lily was leaving Harry’s. They stopped and stared at each other for a moment, as though hearing a thousands words they would never speak, with hazel eyes fixated on emerald. Somewhere downstairs, a door and floorboard creaked in unison.

“Probably just the cat,” they said at the same time.

James grinned lightly. It wasn’t his usual grin, with it’s wide, mischievous nature and altogether recklessness, Lily noted. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen that grin in a very long time. This instead was James’s sad smile. It was still wide, but lacked the mischief, the mirth, and did not reach his hazel eyes. Lily had once though James was the only person in the world without a fake smile, but this proved her wrong. She felt a sad twinge in her heart.

“I’ll go check,” he told her.

“Yeah, I’ll…” she trailed off, not she what she would do. Something felt wrong—something _was_ wrong. “I’ll check on Harry again.”

James descended the stairs, squinting through the darkness. He wished he had his wand on him to cast _lumos_ , but he’d left it downstairs in the living room. He decided he should retrieve it before investigating the noise further. Yet then a cool breeze cut his face, making him freeze on the third to bottom step. The windows were all closed, had been for weeks. He took another step down, more cautious this time. He was now low enough on the stairs to see the open front door, the moonlight spilling into the entryway, and had not even a second to register the black cloaked figure, and within it the murderous, red eyes of Lord Voldemort, before instinct kicked in and he shouted, “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off! Leave her—he doesn’t know! Just go with Harry now!”

James’ hand flew to his waistband, though he already knew his wand wasn’t there. Why hadn’t he thought to keep it on his person? It was a careless mistake. But they were safe…they were supposed to be safe. The living room was so close, if only he could—but there was no time. James lunged forward, skipping the last steps, in an attempt to fend off the Dark Lord.

There was a cruel laugh filled with everything but amusement, a flash of green light, and James Potter fell to the ground, dead. Lord Voldemort sneered as he stepped over the fool’s body, continuing up the stairs. He wondered vaguely what Potter had meant by “Leave her—he doesn’t know!”. But no matter. Voldemort would find out soon enough, for nothing could stop the Dark Lord in the hour of killing.

Lily heard the terrible screech of _Avada Kedavra_ , followed by the deafening thud of her husband’s body colliding with the cold hardwood floor.

He’s coming, she thought, and we’re trapped.

She couldn’t apparate out, the security charms they had placed on the home ensured that, and the stiff air of blocked magic she felt inside herself when she considered it told her that whatever Voldemort had done to reach them had not included lifting the Apparation Shields. She cast around for something, anything, that could get them out. She could make a portkey—but she had left her wand in the living room as well.

Lily turned, frustrated and terrified tears forcing their way to the surface. She lifted Harry from his crib and held him close, hoping beyond hope that the chair and boxes she had haphazardly shoved in front of the door would hold off Voldemort. Even if they did, then what? And Hermione was in her room all alone. If the girl made any noise….

Lily kissed the top of Harry’s head and placed him back in his crib, letting him hold on to her hand with his sweaty little fingers this time.

“I love you Harry,” she whispered helplessly. “Daddy loves you. Hermione loves you. Sirius loves you, and Remus and Peter too. We love you so much, Harry. You are so, so loved Harry, you should get more time—”

Lily paused for a moment, tears cascading down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and continued. If this was their last night, she wanted the last thing her son heard to be the sound of her voice.

“Be strong, Harry. Be brave. Be brave like Daddy, Harry. You are so strong Harry, you are so—”

The bedroom door was blasted off its hinges. Lily whirled around to find herself looking into the snake-like face of Lord Voldemort. The evilness in them seemed to slither into her soul and burn it to blackness. Lily felt the absence of her wand as she threw her arms wide, attempting to shield her only son from death.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” she cried, not caring that tears were flooding her vision. Here she was, looking into the the scarlet eyes of death, and her last hope was to beg a murderer for mercy.

“Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside now,” Voldemort ordered, face livid with bloodlust and ambition.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—”

“This is my last warning—”

“Not Harry! Please, have mercy, have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I’ll do anything—”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

_Standing aside, allowing my son to die to save myself, would be the only thing worse than death,_ Lily thought, but before she could say so there was a second blinding green flash, and Lily Potter collapsed to the floor like James, dead.

Lord Voldemort approached the crib where the boy sat, and as he did so, the child began to cry. There was nothing standing in the way of him killing this child now. And once the Potter boy was done with, there would be nothing standing in the way of Lord Voldemort and immortality.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

A flash of green, just like the others—then nothing but terrible, unimaginable pain as Lord Voldemort was destroyed by Harry James Potter for, perhaps, the first time. The Halloween night was silent except for Harry’s cry, echoed by that of his sister’s in the next room.


	2. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter is still not mine. I only own the plot I created, and my original characters.

Albus Dumbledore pushed his half-moon spectacles up his crooked nose and scanned the headline of the morning’s _Daily Prophet_.

**_THE DARK LORD DEFEATED???_ **  
_Last night He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named visited the home of Lily and James Potter. It has been known for some time now that the Potters have been in hiding. Though there are currently no clues as to why You-Know-Who was after the Potters, it is assumed it has something to do with their work for the so-called Order of the Phoenix and their known loyalty to Albus Dumbledore._

_The Potter Home at Godric’s Hallow was found in ruins. Devastatingly, officials tell us James Potter’s body was discovered near the entry of the home, and Lily Potter’s on the floor of their young son Harry’s room. Little Harry apparently escaped death with nothing but a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, other sources say. Rumors are flying that this may mean the end of the Dark Lord himself—_

There was a hard knock on Dumbledore’s door, causing him to glance up.

“Enter,” he said.

The door opened to reveal Professor Trelawney, the newly hired Divination teacher.

“Ah, Sybill,” Dumbledore smiled. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“What can you do for me!” Sybil burst out. “I went down to The Three Broomsticks last night for a nice cup of fire whiskey, and you know what? I didn’t have enough money! Twenty sickles a month is outrageous! I have half a mind to quit now, seeing as you obviously do not prize my talents here!”

“Your talents receive the highest of admirations here, I assure you, Sybil,” Dumbledore sighed. “And I must agree, twenty sickles a month is no where near a good income. Unfortunately, times have been tight these last few months, but…I suppose we could manage two galleons a month.”

“Two galleons?!” Trelawney cried. “Two galleons! Sir, I—”

Trelawney’s mouth slackened, her body going suddenly rigid and her eyes wide. She breathed in a terrible, raspy breath and spoke in a voice much deeper and scratchier than before.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord succeeds for the first time…for neither can live while the other survives…yet one thing—knowledge—stands in the Dark Lord’s way…. Knowledge and logic…and the ability to perceive that which others overlook belonging to a girl…born when the reins of time are passed from July to August…. With this Knowledge alive the Dark Lord shall fail time and again unless the one tied to her by the most intricate of fates…who holds the power to defeat both light and dark…is found…for the side which grey joins is the side which is strengthened…. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord succeeds for the first time….”_

Trelawney sucked in a shaky breath, giving into a violent coughing fit. When it subsided, she said, as if nothing had happened, “No, I demand two galleons and ten sickles! Or—or I’ll quit!”

Dumbledore sighed tiredly once more, but agreed. “Fine, then. Two galleons and ten sickles a month it is. If you would please excuse me, now, Sybil…I have some things to sort out.”

Trelawney looked too surprised at her own good fortune to move, but she cleared her throat awkwardly, said, “Yes—yes of course. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, sir,”, and left the headmaster’s study.

Dumbledore sighed yet again, turning his attention to the tall window at the far side of his office which overlooked the school grounds where students were cheerfully chasing each other, making the best of the chilly Sunday morning, their minds filled with joy and hope from the article in _The Prophet_ they had no doubt just read over breakfast.

And now there was another prophecy, obviously connected to the last, though this time speaking of the knowledge and logic of another child…. But what knowledge? Was is a specific fact, or the general ability to retain and understand information? Of course, the question of who the knowledge belonged to was simple, though it now put both of the Potter children’s lives at stake, for surely if Voldemort found out about this prophecy, he would be determined to kill Hermione Potter as well.

Dumbledore smiled sadly as two fifth year Gryffindors raced each other ecstatically to the Quidditch pitch, laughing and shouting to one another. The young Potters should be aloud to make it to such an age, to attend the fantastic school which every magic-born child dreamed of. It wasn’t fair they had been shoved into some prophecy, some destiny they had never asked for. But fate worked in strange and unkind ways. It wasn’t meant to be fair. It just happened.

\- - -

“Enter,” Dumbledore said for the second time that day as a hallow knock echoed through his study. The door opened to reveal Professor McGonagall.

“You asked for me, Headmaster?” she said.

“I did,” Dumbledore said grimly. He was standing in front of the tall window again, watching the students fooling around in the afternoon sun.

“What do you need, Albus?” McGonagall prompted.

“Alas, advice,” Dumbledore replied.

“Advice, sir? From me?” McGonagall asked, somewhat surprised.

“Or merely someone trustworthy to speak to,” Dumbledore corrected. “About the Potter twins.”

“Are the rumors true, then?” McGonagall gasped. “Lily and James Potter aren’t—”

“Gone? Yes, they are,” Dumbledore answered. “And so is Lord Voldemort. For now, that is.”

“Then what in Merlin’s beard do you need me for?” McGonagall pressed.

“I have already sent Hagrid to collect Harry and Hermione,” Dumbledore explained. “He will wait with them at Order headquarters until he receives further instructions. Harry is to live with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and their son Dudley. As for Hermione—”

“You’re separating them?” McGonagall said skeptically. “Do you really think that wise? After all, they’ve lost their parents, they’ll need each other in the years to come.”

“I quite agree,” Dumbledore nodded. “In time, they will come to need one another, for there are things Harry mustn’t know, and things Hermione must as soon as possible. We need to teach her so she will be ready.”

“When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returns?”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore nodded a second time. “But it is important that Harry does not know of Hermione. If he does, he will think he is nothing without her.”

“But—why?” McGonagall demanded, confused.

Dumbledore did not answer. He trusted McGonagall with his life, but he didn’t think it wise to tell anyone about the prophecies. The more people who knew, the more dangerous the situation became.

“Well surely you can place Harry somewhere besides Petunia’s,” McGonagall reasoned. “That’s no place for him to be.”

“He must be with his mother’s family,” Dumbledore said.

McGonagall would have asked why, but she knew Dumbledore would not answer. Instead, she said, “And Hermione?”

“That is what I have been trying to decide.”

“Well, she’ll have to go with Sirius,” McGonagall said. “He is their godfather.”

“She cannot now,” Dumbledore shook his head. “I do not believe it was Sirius but…”

“Sir?”

“He was their secret keeper, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied. “But I do not believe he betrayed them. The Death Eaters have been after Sirius before, attempting to recruit them, but he always refused. After Regulus’s death, I can only imagine his hate for Voldemort’s cause deepened. He could not have given them up voluntarily…perhaps the Imperius Curse….”

“But until we find out more, we can’t just hand Hermione off to him,” McGonagall said. “She’ll have to be placed somewhere else, temporarily. Perhaps Remus?”

“You and I both know Remus would never trust himself around a child,” Dumbledore said sadly. “For now, at least, I think it would be better to place Hermione elsewhere.”

“But where is elsewhere?”

“Rose,” Dumbledore replied as if it had just occurred to him. “James’s sister.”

“Yes, that would only be right,” McGonagall agreed. “But, Albus, won’t people wonder what happened to her? Won’t Harry find out eventually, by accident?”

“I will sort that out,” Dumbledore murmured. “I am sure the Order will be of much use to her disappearance.”

“What exactly are you planning?” McGonagall inquired.

“Memory charms should do the trick,” Dumbledore replied. “Remus, Sirius, and Peter will be warned not to mention Hermione to anyone but each other.”

“Will you find out about Sirius?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore finally turned from the window, crossing the study to his cloak rack. “I am going to the Three Broomsticks tonight to meet him. If he does not turn up…then I’m afraid the worst is true. For now I must pay visit to Rose.”

“If you need anything else, sir,” McGonagall offered.

“I shall call upon you,” Dumbledore smiled, fastening his traveling cloak. “Good day, Minerva.”

\- - -

The late afternoon sun glowed the warm orange of autumn as Dumbledore apparated to 19 Pettingale Street. Upon his knock at the door, there was a scuffling from inside as Rose Granger hurried to welcome him inside.

“Dumbledore,” she breathed, eyeing the street beyond him, as if searching for something. “Please, come in.”

“I trust you received my letter, then?” Dumbledore asked as he stepped inside and removed his emerald green traveling cloak.

“Yes, I did,” Rose murmured. Her hair was fluffy, auburn, and rather disheveled, and there were bags beneath her eyes, which looked extremely bloodshot. “I found out this morning, in _The Prophet_.”

“My condolences,” Dumbledore nodded. “But I’m afraid I did not come to grieve. It is important that I discuss with you what will happen to Harry and Hermione.”

“I would have thought Sirius would was to raise them,” Rose said immediately. She spoke quietly, as if whispering made the death of her only brother more bearable.

“Unfortunately certain circumstances of the present make it…essential Harry and Hermione are raised apart,” Dumbledore began to explain.

“Apart? But—why?” Rose asked.

“I’m afraid such details cannot be disclosed,” Dumbledore said. “Though Harry and Hermione will know, when they are old enough.”

“Then which of them will be with Sirius?” Rose asked. She seemed to realize something and added, “You didn’t come here because want me to raise on of them, did you?”

“Precisely,” Dumbledore replied.

“But—I’m a Squib!”

“A Squib who proved most useful to the Order,” Dumbledore smiled. “A Squib who is the aunt of James and Lily Potters’ orphaned children. Which is why I came here to ask you if you would take in Hermione.”

“Well, of course, but…Hugo doesn’t know about, well, everything,” Rose stated nervously. “Anyway, what good would I be raising a witch? I might come from magical blood, but I haven’t a magical bone in my body!”

“Your talent at magic is of no concern to me,” Dumbledore said kindly. “Magical children are born and raised by Muggles all the time, and in this instance, I think both Harry and Hermione could benefit from growing up outside of the wizarding world.”

“But Harry will be raised by Sirius, yes?”

“Not presently, no,” Dumbledore shook his head. “There are certain things I must sort out with Sirius. Harry must go to his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.”

“Petunia!” Rose actually laughed, but it was devoid of humor. “She hates the whole lot of them!”

“Harry is her sister’s child,” Dumbledore said, as if this explained everything. “Now I am afraid I have other business to attend, so if this is settled, I must depart.”

“Yes, I…I will take care of Hermione,” Rose said, as if she were trying to convince herself of the fact.

“I advise you to explain yours and James’s true identities to Hugo as soon as possible,” Dumbledore said. “Hagrid will be coming with Hermione soon, and Professor McGonagall will visit in order to alter Hermione’s appearance slightly. We believe transfiguring her somewhat will be important if we wish to keep her true identity from Harry. Nothing major, just a change in her hair color, perhaps.”

“I—I suppose,” Rose said, seeming flustered. It was all so much to take in, and she had barely even had a moment to grieve. “If it’s for the best.”

“Good day, Rose,” Dumbledore smiled, and he let himself out the front door, apparating on the steps.


	3. The Godfather

The Three Broomsticks was packed with cheerful witches and wizards celebrating the disappearance of Voldemort. Everyone was so jovial and ecstatic, it was as if it were Christmas. Sirius had to push past a group of giggling elves as he made his way to the back of the pub, where Dumbledore was waiting.

“Good evening, Sirius,” Dumbledore smiled solemnly as the young man sat down across from him.

“Sir, it wasn’t me—” Sirius began, but the wise wizard held up a hand to pause Sirius.

“I know. I would expect you, of all people, to die rather than give up your friends,” Dumbledore said. “What I wish to know is, who, then?”

Sirius glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned forward to whisper urgently, “It was Peter, sir, but it was my fault.”

“How so?”

“I convinced them to switch at the last minute,” Sirius shook his head. “It was a coward’s move—I thought Voldemort would expect Peter least of all, I was sure he’d be after me, and you know the Death Eaters had already been knocking at my door trying to get me to join!”

“Peter gave up the Potters?” Dumbledore muttered mostly to himself.

“Yes, sir! I don’t what we were thinking, making Peter the secret keeper. I mean him of all people, _honestly_. I should have—it’s all my fault sir. They’re dead because of me—”

“No, Sirius,” Dumbledore said firmly. “The are dead because of Peter. You did not give up any information—”

“I made them switch—”

“Listen to me,” Dumbledore leaned forward, looking Sirius intensely in the eyes. “You cannot blame yourself for this. It was Peter’s choice to give them to Voldemort, not yours—”

“But if I had just—”

“Guilt will get you nowhere,” Dumbledore cut him off firmly. “It will only consume you. You will not allow yourself to dwell on ‘if only’ any longer, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Sirius nodded, though he was not convinced. He leaned back, looking suddenly much older and more tired than he ever had before. There was almost no trace of the joking boy who had once graced the halls of Hogwarts now, Dumbledore noted. “Where have Harry and Hermione been taken? I went to the house the minute I found out, but—”

“Hagrid has collected them,” Dumbledore answered. “He is currently waiting with them at Order Headquarters.”

“Okay,” Sirius nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to—”

“You won’t be the one to look after them, Sirius,” Dumbledore said.

“What?”

“Harry will go to live with Lily’s sister—”

“Petunia hated James and Lily, sir, that’s a terrible—”

“It must happen,” Dumbledore said. “As for Hermione, she will go to Rose.”

“They’ll grow up with Muggles and Squibs?” Sirius said. “I should be raising them, sir. I owe James—”

“The decision is final, Sirius—”

“I’m their godfather!” Sirius shouted, causing heads to turn. He lowered his voice anxiously, “Sir, I’m their godfather, they’re my best friend’s children. I know you don’t think I’d be much of a guardian, but Remus would help, and—”

“Sirius, both Rose and Petunia are married and have a steady income,” Dumbledore said. “You have no job now that the war is over. You need to be looking forward, finding a career—”

“I can do that while raising them,” Sirius argued. He suddenly wished desperately that his parents had not disowned him, for if they hadn’t, money would not be an issue. But his mother and father were sitting on their own wealth, with not a thing to use it for, now that Regulus was dead.

“You are one person, Sirius,” Dumbledore shook his head. “One person can not raise two children on their own. And beyond that, certain events have occurred as a result of Lily and James’s death that make my decision on this matter—”

“Your decision? It’s my decision, Dumbledore! I’m their godfather, not you! You don’t have any relation to them!”

“Sirius, you must trust me,” Dumbledore said. “I am sure Rose and Petunia would be more than happy to have you visit the children regularly—”

Sirius snorted, “Petunia? She hates everything magical. She’ll hate me, and she’ll definitely hate Harry. She didn’t even come to James and Lily’s _wedding_ , sir.”

“You must trust me, Sirius,” Dumbledore repeated. “Is that clear?”

Sirius glared at the older wizard for a while, calculating, but finally sighed, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Dumbledore said, gathering his cloak. “If you would excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

“I’m sure you do,” Sirius muttered as Dumbledore walked away.

Just then, a waitress walked by Sirius’s table. She paused.

“Would you like to order a drink?” she asked. “I’m sorry, there are so many people tonight, I’m losing track of whose already ordered.”

Sirius glanced up. “Firewhisky,” he replied simply.

As the waitress walked off to get his drink, Sirius studied his hands. He was getting an idea, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good one.

\- - -

There was a loud crack somewhere on the street. Sirius rubbed his head, for he had had too much fire whisky to apparate enjoyably. He turned in a circle, looking carefully through the darkness. This would be an inopportune time to be being watched, and he wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to send one of the Order to tag him. When he spotted no one, he started forward toward the parking space outside the apartment building which occupied his motorcycle.

“Sirius?” a voice said from the apartment stairs just as he reached his bike.

He looked up. It was Ernest. She smiled cheerfully at the sight of him.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said in a rush. “I’ve got dinner—”

“I—I have to go,” Sirius explained lamely, cutting her off.

Ernest’s smile disappeared. “What?”

“There’s…something I have to do,” Sirius said.

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius answered honestly.

“But I need to talk to you,” Ernest said.

“It can wait,” Sirius replied, mounting his motorcycle.

“This is because of _him_ , isn’t it?” Ernest demanded from the stairs, crossing her arms.

Sirius glanced up again, then laughed lightly, but there was no amusement in it. “This has nothing to do with Remus.”

“Then what does it have to do with?”

“It’s—you wouldn’t understand,” Sirius said exasperatedly.

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t,” Sirius said harshly. “What part of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ do you not get?”

Ernest opened her mouth to reply, but Sirius had driven off before any words could escape. He leaned forward against the cold night, feeling more guilty than before. _It’s fine,_ he told himself as he turned a corner and took to the sky. _I’ll apologize when I get back._

He flew until he was less than a few blocks away from the Order Headquarters. Then he returned to the ground, riding the rest of the way there. It had to be close to midnight by the time he dismounted in the shabby ally and turned to face the blank brick wall on his right side, wand out. He wondered if he was too late. Maybe Dumbledore had already sent Harry and Hermione away. Before he could find out, however, the wall in front of him morphed to reveal a door with pealing paint and a boarded window, it’s doorknob knocked off. The door swung open, causing Sirius to stumble back, revealing an enormous man.

“Hagrid?” Sirius said in shock.

“Sirius?” Hagrid replied, squinting in the dark. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Looking for you,” Sirius replied, stepping forward. “I thought I might be too late.”

His eyes landed on Hagrid’s arms, which appeared to be holding two large bundles of blankets that Sirius knew to contain Harry and Hermione.

“I have to take the twins,” Sirius said. “I know you’ve been given different instructions, but Dumbledore’s sent me to retrieve them from you.”

Hagrid looked confused. “But I’ve got orders from—”

“I know, they’re old orders,” Sirius insisted. “I’m supposed to take them from here. There’s been a change of plans.”

“Change o’ plans?” Hagrid furrowed his brow.

“Yes, I’m to take them,” Sirius said.

Hagrid paused for a moment, then shook his hairy head. “No, I can’t. I’ve got direct orders from Dumbledore.”

“But Hagrid—”

“If I’m wrong, Dumbledore will still give them to you like you say,” Hagrid reasoned. “But I can’t disobey Dumbledore.”

Sirius let his shoulders slump. This was obviously not working.

“Look, Hagrid,” he said. “Can’t you do me a favor? I know Dumbledore’s given you instructions, but I’m their godfather. They’re my responsibility.”

“I still have me orders from—”

“I don’t care about any bloody orders you’ve got!” Sirius burst out, his voice echoing off the walls of the dingy alley. “Harry and Hermione are mine, James left them to me! Please, Hagrid, you’ve got to listen to me! I understand Dumbledore’s told you differently, but I’m in debt to my best friend. He left me his children; they’re mine to raise! Not Petunia’s! Not Rose’s! Mine!”

Hagrid looked for a moment as if he desperately wanted to agree with Sirius, but when he spoke, he said, “No, Sirius. I’m not gonna disobey orders from Dumbledore. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Sirius gazed helplessly into Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes. “Fine,” he told the half-giant at last. “Take my motorbike. It’ll get you to Dumbledore faster.”

“You sure?” Hagrid asked, eyeing the motorbike skeptically.

“Yes, I won’t be needing it anymore,” Sirius said wistfully.

“Alright,” Hagrid nodded, walking over to the motorcycle.

“Hagrid?” Sirius said distantly.

“Yeah?” Hagrid turned around.

“Can I at least say goodbye to them?” Sirius said.

“You’ll see them again,” Hagrid said. “Won’t ya?”

“Of—of course,” Sirius said. “But just until then, I mean.”

“Well, sure,” Hagrid said, holding out the children to Sirius.

Sirius took both the babies into his arms. He knew Dumbledore was wrong then. He may be one person, but if he could carry two children at once, he could certainly raise them alone as well. The twins were both wide-eyed and awake, and Sirius felt tears prick at his eyes at the striking resemblance they both bore of their parents. Harry, with his jet-black hair just like James’s, and those vibrant, emerald green eyes that had belonged to Lily. Hermione, with her ravishing red hair so like her mother’s, and hazel eyes the same shade as James’s. It was as if someone had taken Lily and James, and merely swapped a few characteristics.

“I’ll try to visit you soon,” he whispered, ignoring the lump building in his throat. “Everything will turn out fine. I promise.”

“S’alright, Sirius,” Hagrid said awkwardly. “It’ll be better soon. With You-Know-Who gone and all.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Sirius said, handing the twins back. “You should be going. Don’t want to keep Dumbledore waiting.”

He watched as Hagrid mounted the bike and flew off into the night sky. Sirius felt the tears pricking in his eyes grow bigger and spill from his cheeks. He did not know where he was to go from here. He had had a plan. Get the twins, then leave for…well, for somewhere. For Remus’s flat, perhaps, to figure things out before going away where Dumbledore couldn’t take Harry and Hermione from him.

He stood in the alley a long while, trying to come up with something, trying to see a way. But his mind was clouding, he had not allowed himself yet to grieve, and it all began crashing down on him. The tears were flowing steadily down his cheeks, he had no control over them and didn’t want to. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go to Ernest because she’d expect an apology, and he was in no shape to apologize or make up false stories. He didn’t want to return to his own flat, either, for the thought of it seemed cold and lonely. As the sun rose, however, and Muggles began taking to the streets outside the alleyway, he decided there was no place to go but Moony’s. Things had not been the same since James and Lily had gone into hiding. Sirius shook his head to himself. No, when it came down to it, things had not been the same since they had left school. Behind the walls of Hogwarts, everything seemed safe and distant. No problem seemed too large to tackle. But the real world was full of sharp teeth that nipped at your robes and got under your skin, tearing apart you and everything you’d known from the inside. Or maybe that wasn’t the real world, maybe that was just war. Maybe now that You-Know-Who was gone…maybe things could go back to how they were.

It was a far fetched hope, Sirius knew, because certainly nothing could go back to normal. Nothing was normal now; James was dead. But he had to start somewhere, had to go somewhere. He stumbled out of the alleyway and onto the bustling street, tears fogging up his vision. Maybe he and Remus could get Harry and Hermione back—

Sirius was so lost in thought that he ran directly into a rushing Muggle. He staggered back, blinking, his eyes falling on the Muggle, who was picking himself off the ground. The man was chubby and had a rat’s nest of mousy brown hair upon his head—

“Peter!” Sirius practically barked it. His old friend looked at him, watery blue eyes startled.

“S-Sirius!” the heavy young man exclaimed. “W-what are you—”

“You rat!” Sirius shouted, pulling out his wand and pointing it at Peter’s chest. “You sold them out! You killed them!”

“No!” Peter exclaimed. “I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did,” Sirius snarled. “Your a filthy coward! I’ll kill you!”

“No,” Peter said more defiantly now, holding up his hands, then drawing them behind his back. Sirius was surprised at the angry flicker in the traitor’s eyes. “You were their secret keeper. Dumbledore knows it!”

“You can’t frame me!” Sirius almost laughed. “I’ve told Dumbledore it was you.”

A hint of worry crossed Peter’s face. “Sirius, please. We’re friends.”

“Friends?!” Sirius shouted. Muggles were beginning to give the two men a wide birth as they passed. “You sold them out instead of dying, but it didn’t save your life. I’ll kill you, Peter!”

“No, it was you!” Peter screamed in agony, as if he were trying to convince himself of the fact. “Please, Sirius! James and Lily—how could you?”

“How could I what?!” Sirius demanded. “Tell them to use you instead of me? I don’t know! But it doesn’t matter! I’ll kill you now!”

Suddenly there was a flash of magic, and Sirius ducked. Spells began to fly out everywhere, all coming from the same source—from Peter. Sirius could barely see, the air was so filled with dust and spells. Muggles were screaming and running, and suddenly there were unmistakeable cracks of wizards apparating.

_“Protego!”_ Sirius shouted desperately as a spell shot toward a young Muggle girl, but he missed and she dropped dead.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you Peter!” Sirius bellowed.

Then, suddenly, the spells stopped, and the dust cleared. Sirius looked around himself. The street was in ruins: piles of broken asphalt and cement had been ripped from the ground, and there was a massive crater in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. There were at least ten Muggles lying on the ground, unmoving. Others were frozen where they stood in shock, while still more were running away shouting in terror. Peter, though, was gone. His robes were there, in a bloodied heap on the ground, but there was no trace of the man himself.

_No,_ Sirius thought. _No, he couldn’t have._

He crawled forward over the rubble, shaking the robes out as if Peter might fall out of them. The only thing that tumbled out, however, was a severed index finger. Sirius startled at the sight of it, then gingerly lifted it from the ground. It was fat and bloody.

Sirius began to laugh. There was nothing funny about it, but somehow, kneeling there on the street, holding Peter’s finger, he was overcome with mirthless laughter. It had all gone wrong, hadn’t it? James and Lily were dead. Harry and Hermione were separated. Peter was a murderer, and Sirius—well, Sirius was being pulled to his feet. Hands were clawing at him, tugging him along as he laughed, and he hardly registered them confiscate his wand or place a binding curse on him that pulled his arms behind his back and made him unable to move his upper body. All he could do was laugh.


	4. The Peculiar Grangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

The residents of North Chester Street could certainly agree that the members of number 24 were a strange bunch. Rose and Hugo Granger were quite normal; they had moved into the home shortly after their marriage, leading a quiet life as local dentists, and almost all the residents of Chester Street sent their children to the Granger's office for the occasional checkup. Everyone could agree that the Grangers were a very kind couple, and the neighbors made sure to check in on them often when the news came that Mrs. Granger's brother had past away, even if none of them had ever seen him around 24 North Chester Street.

When it came down to it, all the weirdness came from the Grangers' small daughter, Hermione. To begin with, she didn't look a thing like either of them. She had bushy brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and rather large front teeth. None of the neighbors could seem to remember when Alison had been pregnant with Hermione. One day the girl was just there, and the flustered neighbors assumed they had just been too caught up in their own lives to notice.

Hermione Granger was indeed a very odd girl, the oddest they came. The Grangers did not have her attend school, for they said a bright mind like hers needed to be nurtured differently. They homeschooled her themselves, and when Hermione was a bit older, occasionally had a rather ancient tutor stop by for extra help. This tutor was extremely odd as well. He dressed in robes, had a very long beard, and wore a hat like that of a wizard's. But besides all this, there was something even more peculiar about Hermione Granger.

According to little Anne Deidra of number 28 North Chester Street, Hermione Granger could do things. Magical things. When Anne told her mother how she had seen Hermione causing small stones to float in the air by the river, Mrs. Deidra waved off the ridiculous claim, informing her daughter that there was no such thing as magic. This, however, did not stop Anne from spreading her anecdote around school. When she and a gaggle of five other children approached Hermione by the stream where she spent afternoons reading, Hermione denied such things, saying it must have been an optical illusion. For a while, the idea that Hermione had magical powers dissolved amongst the children.

The trouble started again when Fawna and Presley Adamson moved in down the street. Fawna was an irritable girl who only enjoyed the company of her brother, and Presley was a mean little boy who could not stand girls, aside from his sister. The day they moved in, Fawna and Presley's mother kicked them outside and ordered them to make some friends. Neither child liked that idea, so they instead took a walk toward the heavy-flowing stream running behind their house.

By a most unfortunate coincidence, Anne Deidra and Hermione Granger were playing by the small river. Little Anne had befriended Hermione in the hopes of catching her doing something magical again, though Hermione still denied possessing such powers. On that fateful summer day, they were building a dam across the stream when the Adamson siblings approached.

"Hello," Anne said sweetly when she spotted them. "Want to play with us?"

"No," Presley sneered. "Why would I want to play with you?"

Anne shrugged. "I was just offering."

"Too bad for you," Fawna shrugged. "We don't care about your stupid game."

"I was only offering because I thought you looked bored," Anne said, annoyed. "If you don't want to play, then just say so and leave us alone."

If there was one thing Presley and Fawna Adamson hated more than other children, it was other children who talked back to them.

"What are all those?" Presley demanded, spotting a pile books Hermione had left beside the stream.

Anne followed the direction of his pointing finger and said, "Nothing for you."

"'Nothing for you'," Presley mimicked her, and Fawna snatched up the closest book. Presley took it from her and read the title aloud. "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. What's this rubbish?"

"It's not rubbish," Hermione spoke for the first time. "You must've heard of it before."

"No, I haven't," Presley said. "Books are stupid."

"Are not!" Hermione argued. "Give it back!"

It was a terrible mistake on Hermione's part to say this, however, because in doing so she had assured Presley that she cared about the book.

"No, I don't think I will," Presley smiled. "You know what I'm thinking, Fawna?"

"No." Fawna was a rather slow child.

Presley rolled his eyes. "I'm thinking that this book looks rather dirty. I don't suppose you would mind me washing it off in the stream, would you, little girl?"

"Her name is Hermione," Anne snapped. "And you'd better watch out, because she can do stuff!"

"What stuff?" Fawna was intrigued.

"She has magical powers," Anne said smugly. "So if you don't put that book down, she'll blow you up!"

Presley cracked up at this, and his younger sister followed suit. "Magical powers?" he said. "You're crazy!"

"No I'm not! It's true, I saw her! She was here by the river with some stones—"

"Annie, please," Hermione shook her head. "Just let them have the book. I've already read it anyway."

"Really? How does it end?" Fawna demanded.

Hermione hesitated a second too long. She actually had not read all the book, and couldn't think up a fake ending quick enough.

Presley laughed more. "C'mon Fawna, let's give this book a bath."

"No!" Hermione and Anne both exclaimed.

Just as Presley was pulling his arm back to throw the book into the water, however, something very peculiar happened. His arm seemed to be stuck in its position, and the fallen leaves around him were flying like birds and pelting down at him. The trees creaked with anger, and the wind gusted aggressively at him.

Fawna stood confused and shocked, not sure how to help her brother. Hermione Granger stood, fists clenched, staring at Presley with all her might. Her eyes looked as if they could burn buildings, and her hair was being tickled by the wind. Anne stood beside her, gazing amazedly at the scene.

"I told you she had magic powers!" Anne shouted happily over the wind, causing Hermione to snap out of her trance.

Presley's arm was unlocked from its position, and the book flew from his hand into Hermione's ready grasp. He took less than a moment to throw her a shocked look before he yelled at Fawna to come on, and was chased from the woods by the wind and the leaves.

Once he was gone, Anne spoke. "That was amazing! I knew you had magic powers! C'mon! We have to show everyone what you can do!"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "We can't because...they'll be after me!"

"Who?" Anne inquired.

"The witch hunters," Hermione made up wildly. "They'll find out I'm a witch and they'll come searching for me, so you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?"

"Okay," Anne nodded.

They trudged back home with the books, Anne thinking how amazing Hermione's powers were, and Hermione thinking how by Dumbledore's next visit, Anne would have no recollection of what happened that day. But the damage had already been done. Presley and Fawna Adamson had reached their new home, and were recounting the story of what had just happened to them in the woods. Mrs. Adamson would not believe them, but when she and Anne's mother got to talking after school in the coming year, the whispered rumors about Hermione Granger's peculiarity would grow again on North Chester Street.

\- - -

Addie knew her mother was unhappy. She could sense it, in the way that an animal smells fear. It wasn't unusual, of course, for Addie's mother to be unhappy. That was how it always went. They would stay in a new place for a few months, and her mother would be happy. Her aura would be yellow and satisfied. _Like lemon zest, _Addie liked to think. Then her aura would grow cold and blue, then grayish and solid, so that Addie knew they would soon be moving on to another city, another country, somewhere else her mother could try to be happy forever.__

__But this time it was different. Addie's mother, always so beautiful, seemed to be deteriorating before her daughter's very eyes. Her golden brown curls grew frizzy and greasy, giving them a wild yet lank nature. Her caramel skin seemed to turn to ash, and Addie imagine if the wind blew hard enough, it would blow the skin right off her mum, leaving nothing but a skeleton. Skin or not, though, that was what her mother was now: a skeleton._ _

__Addie had noticed her mother's aura had not glowed as brightly since they came to the snake man. He was not the usual kind her mother chose. He was not a poet, an artist, a musician, or a philosopher. He was a man who owned snakes, lots of them, and wore baggy t-shirts and jeans. Nearly a week after they moved in with the snake man, her mother's aura had already turned stone gray. Addie was shocked, for she hadn't even remembered seeing it turn to the middle stage of blue. Naturally, Addie had assumed they would leave in the next few days, but the days went, and then the weeks, and even months. Her mother's aura grew grayer still._ _

__She was good at placing people. Addie could look at a person and see their aura, see the colors that made them tick. Most the poets, and especially the artists, had found this fascinating. They all loved Addie, sometimes even more than they loved her mother. They would talk to her like she was an adult, which Addie liked, and would explain their work to her. Addie could always understand it, too. But when she looked at the snake man, she could hardly see him at all. It was like he was more a black hole than anything else. You would look at him, not see him, and then only recognize him when it was too late, when he had already sucked all the life out of you._ _

__He also didn't like Addie, which further affirmed that he was no good. Everyone who had ever been good to Addie had liked her. They had loved her quirks and her smarts, appreciated her quick-wittedness. When strange things happened around Addie, they either averted their eyes or thought it made her even more brilliant. And odd things were always happening to Addie. She couldn't quite explain it. It was like the auras. They were just a part of the way she saw, a part of who she was, and always had been._ _

__But the snake man hated all this. He would ignore Addie, or glare at her, or snap at her to not bother his snakes. His presence was so elusive that these occasional acts of hatred were the only way Addie could properly see him. That was when she knew that something was wrong with her mother. Her mother must be broken, must not be working right. So Addie had to fix her._ _

__\- - -_ _

__It was a warm morning on North Chester Street, especially for the wizard in long purple robes approaching number 24. He knocked twice on the solid oak door._ _

__"Oh, Dumbledore, come in," said Hugo Granger. "Rose and Hermione are back here."_ _

__Hugo lead Dumbledore to the kitchen where Hermione and Rose were baking cookies._ _

__"Happy birthday, Hermione," Dumbledore said, handing the girl a small package._ _

__"Thank you!" Hermione chirped. She was wearing an old shirt bearing the Gryffindor crest. Her Aunt Alison had given it to her, and had said it used to belong to Hermione's father when he went to Hogwarts. Although it was quite big on the girl, she wore it with pride and practically refused to take it off. "Are we going to have a lesson today?"_ _

__"Yes," Dumbledore smiled. "And a very important one too."_ _

__"Okay, to the study!" Hermione exclaimed, running from the room and up the stairs. Dumbledore followed._ _

__In Hugo's office, Hermione took a seat on a pile of books, and Dumbledore in a large chair. Hermione loved the times when Dumbledore visited, and it was an even greater treat that he came on her tenth birthday._ _

__"What are we gonna do?" Hermione prompted._ _

__"Well," Dumbledore began. "When I first left you in the care of your aunt and uncle, I knew that it would be important for me to meet with you every once in a while so that when you were older, you would be prepared. Mostly, we've talked about your parents and I've taught you to control your powers."_ _

__"That didn't really help when Presley Adamson stole my book," Hermione mumbled guiltily._ _

__"No, but even the greatest witches and wizards make mistakes. The important thing is that you realized it," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "To get back to our prior topic, though, there are many things that I have been waiting to tell you until you were a bit older."_ _

__"Like why my brother and I were separated?" Hermione asked._ _

__"That, and other things," Dumbledore nodded. "Now that you're ten, and will be going to Hogwarts next year, I think the time is right to elaborate on many things."_ _

__"Okay," Hermione nodded, intrigued. "Can we start with why Harry went to live with my mom's sister?"_ _

__"Of course," Dumbledore smiled again. "Though that explanation proves rather complicated, seeing as it is linked to all the other things I wish to tell you. See, when Voldemort came to your house all those years ago, I believe he came to only kill Harry. I do not think he would have killed your parents had they not gotten in his way."_ _

__"Why did he want to kill Harry in the first place?"_ _

__"Harry and Voldemort are connected by a prophecy," Dumbledore explained. "It was foretold to me by a professor at Hogwarts—"_ _

__"Which one?"_ _

__"Professor Trelawney. She teaches divination," Dumbledore answered. "I was interviewing her for that same job when she predicted the prophecy. Unfortunately, one of Voldemort's followers overheard part of the prophecy and told him about it. The prophecy speaks of a child—a boy—born at the end of July to parents who have defied the Dark Lord three times. There were two possible boys the prophecy could have been speaking of, but Voldemort chose to believe your brother to be the one."_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__"That, is a question I do not know the answer to," Dumbledore shook his head. "But when Voldemort came to your house to kill Harry, he had no idea your mother and father had a daughter as well. If he had chosen the other boy, there probably would not be a second prophecy."_ _

__"There's a second prophecy?"_ _

__"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "A second prophecy, also foretold to me by Professor Trelawney. This one speaks of a girl born as July turns into August. According to the prophecy, this girl has knowledge which will be most useful when defeating Voldemort."_ _

__"I was born just after midnight," Hermione realized. "Professor—the prophecy isn't about me, is it?"_ _

__"I'm afraid it is," Dumbledore sighed. "And because of it, you and your brother had to be raised separately. I knew that although the prophecy said the girl's logic and intelligence would help defeat Voldemort, it was also talking about knowledge of the connection between Voldemort and Harry. I knew I would have to give this information to you as soon as possible, but I knew that Harry couldn't learn of this knowledge."_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__"Because I believed, and still do, that Harry would feel that without the knowledge, without you, he didn't stand a chance against Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "It's important that Harry does not think that, for in the end, he will be standing alone when facing Voldemort. Harry would have to grow up without knowing he had any siblings."_ _

__"But won't he find out eventually?" Hermione said. "Won't he discover I'm his sister by accident? What if someone mentions me to him without knowing he isn't supposed to know?"_ _

__"I have ensured that this won't happen," Dumbledore said. "James and Lily's closest friends were told of the situation, and so were your Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. The Order altered the memories of anyone else who knew Harry had a sister. And to ensure that when you and Harry meet at Hogwarts he won't suspect anything, Professor McGonagall performed a few transfiguration spells on you. Your hair had been red, just like your mother's, so Professor McGonagall changed it."_ _

__"Did she transfigure anything else?" Hermione asked, thinking of her large front teeth._ _

__"Yes," Dumbledore smiled, as if reading Hermione's mind. "Your front teeth indeed, and she wiped away freckles which had dotted beneath your eyes."_ _

__"When can Harry find out about me?"_ _

__"It would be most ideal for him to discover this after Voldemort is defeated," Dumbledore said. "Though if that is not possible, when you are positive he believes he stands a chance against Voldemort alone."_ _

__"Okay," Hermione said._ _

__Dumbledore left Hermione that day with answers she had been craving for a long time. Now that she had them, they were unsettling, though she tried to act excited and happy when she opened the gifts her aunt and uncle had gotten her. If anything, the answers she had been given only left her with more questions. Why had Voldemort decided Harry was the boy the prophecy spoke of? If he had chosen the other boy, would he have succeeded? Would she, Hermione, be in Godric's Hallow with her parents and brother right now, celebrating their birthday? What was Harry doing for his birthday now?_ _

__Miles away, Harry Potter turned out the light in his bed under the staircase. He was ten years old now. The Dursleys had given him a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks for his birthday, and he hadn't even been forced to do an chores. Altogether, it had been a pretty good day. It would be a year before he knew life could be so much better._ _


End file.
